


Turn Overnight to Sunflowers

by kiwiqueen



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Background Relationships, F/F, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Insomnia, Marriage Proposal, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sunrises, Sunsets, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23452150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiqueen/pseuds/kiwiqueen
Summary: The thought of it was almost comical.  It almost made her smile.  Almost.  The Ashen Demon should not have feared anything, let alone going to sleep.  She had looked Death in its soulless eyes more times than she could count and had not flinched, but she could not settle into Sleep’s caring embrace without shuddering in terror.An extension of Byleth and Claude's paired ending, since I find it rather unsatisfying.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 66





	1. Swiftly Flow the Days

She often had trouble sleeping. It had been happening since she came back to the monastery.

Sometimes the bed in the Archbishop’s Quarters felt too big, too soft, like she was drowning in it. On those nights she would sneak off to her old room, or even to Claude’s old room, and sleep there. Sometimes politics clouded her head long into the nighttime hours. On those nights she would slip off to the bath hall and distract herself with steam and flowery oils. Sometimes the silence left her ears ringing, still feeling too empty without Sothis chattering in the background. On those nights she would throw open a window and listen to the sounds of pegasus wings flapping. Sometimes the night was full of the pain of the students that she hadn’t been able to save. She still had not figured out what to do on those nights.

And if she was being honest with herself? Sometimes the thought of going to sleep again terrified her. Fódlan’s peace was still so fragile, and during her first long slumber it had turned into hell.

On those nights, sleep usually evaded her entirely.

The thought of it was almost comical. It almost made her smile. Almost. The Ashen Demon should not have feared anything, let alone going to sleep. She had looked Death in its soulless eyes more times than she could count and had not flinched, but she could not settle into Sleep’s caring embrace without shuddering in terror.

Fódlan’s peace was still so fragile, and the man who, by all means, should have been crowned king was somewhere across the Throat.

She wasn’t certain what was keeping her awake this time, but she tossed and turned in the vast expanse of bed that had once belonged to Rhea until she finally fell into a restless slumber. She dreamed of the night of the Establishment Ball, when she and Claude had met at the top of the Goddess Tower. There, they had promised to see their hopes through together. Descending the stairs to return to the ball, she tripped and began to fall. She jolted upright in bed. Though she laid back down, her eyes refused to remain closed.

Sleep was not coming.

She slid out of bed and pulled a dark cloak over her night clothes.

She crossed the hall to the star garden. From there, the vast expanse of the night sky was clearly visible. Stars formed complex networks like glittering battalions in the sky. The waxing crescent moon that watched over them reminded her of her fiance, on his white wyvern flying high above the battlefield.

She descended the stairs. The captain’s quarters had remained practically untouched for nearly six years. Dust had settled thick over all of the surfaces inside, but neither she nor anyone else could bring themselves to clear it away. Her footsteps left marks behind on the dusty floor as she crossed over to the bookshelf, where her father’s diary had once been, along with the ring that had once belonged to her mother. It was still too painful to stand in the room for too long, so she left it behind.

Passing through the academy classrooms and dining hall dredged up memories of the days when they had been full of familiar and happy voices. Days long before the war, when Edelgard and Dimitri could share a place at the table, rather than sharing a place six feet underground. When the classes had shared in festivities after fighting at Gronder Field, rather than sharing in mourning. She shuddered and hurried through.

The greenhouse was one of a handful of areas that seemed constant through all the years. Sunflowers bloomed in neat rows throughout the small space, filling it with their gentle gold color and scent. They were Claude’s favorite. She made her way to the back of the greenhouse. A small patch of red carnations bloomed there, the ones Edelgard used to love. She picked one and breathed in its bold fragrance, plucking petals from the flower’s head one at a time as she did. They pooled blood-red at her feet.

Outside, the first lights of dawn were beginning to peek above the horizon, and a horrible cry echoed through the monastery grounds. She exited the greenhouse to find soldiers already pouring from their quarters to prepare for a fight. Demonic beasts were pouring through the gates of Garreg Mach, accompanied by legions of troops with paper-white skin and infantry in crimson uniforms.

She sprinted to her old room in the dormitories, where the majority of her possessions still remained. Throwing off her cloak, she donned her armor as quickly as she could and armed herself with the Sword of the Creator. The blade blazed a blinding orange in her hands, matching the color of the rising sun.

A fierce battle raged on outside. What remained of the Alliance army and the Knights of Seiros, now the Army of the United Kingdom of Fódlan, fought hard to ward off the deathly pale invaders, but they were rapidly losing ground. She forced her way to the front line, luminous sword in hand, and hacked through masses of sickly-looking soldiers, but for every one she cut down, ten more seemed to take their place. Her breath began to run short. The monastery would almost certainly be overrun; she was beginning to lose hope.

Fódlan’s peace was still so fragile.

But the man who should be its king, her fiance, was silhouetted on his white wyvern like an angel against the morning sun in the east. Behind him there followed droves of wyvern-mounted guardian angels, salvation riding in on the golden chariot of the sun. Arrows rained down on the invaders from the sky, as if Claude and his army had been sent by the Goddess herself. Their ghastly enemies began to fall back as the Almyran Royal Army descended upon them.

The sun was high in the sky by the time the last of the attackers fled from Garreg Mach.

Finally, she dropped the Sword of the Creator to the ground and ran to him. He dismounted his wyvern and caught her as she sank into his arms.

“Hello, my friend, my love,” he murmured into her ear. “It’s been too long.”

They stayed there like that, in each other’s arms before the monastery gates, for some time. Soldiers filed back to their quarters, leaving them alone under the hot sun. His hand stroked the back of her neck, and she could feel the cold of the sapphire-studded ring she had given him press into her skin.

Soon she took him by the hand and guided him to the dining hall. Together they shared a pheasant roast with berry sauce, as they had done many times in the past, as they had with Lysithea and Cyril when they had all lived in the monastery together. They sat in a comfortable silence across the table from one another, simply enjoying each other’s presence. With him there, and the dining hall filled with the monastery’s residents in the light of day, it no longer felt haunted by the students who had died in the war.

After the meal they returned to the Archbishop’s Quarters to shed their armor, and she finally found sleep in Claude’s soothing body heat, with his fingers running through her hair.

When she awoke, he was still there with her, caressing her hair just as he had been when she had drifted off. It hadn’t been a dream.

A natural smile played over his features. He looked sunburnt after months spent in Almyra. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

“Morning, Claude.”

He laughed, not maliciously, but with adoration. “Morning? Teach, it’s nearly sundown.”

“Evening, then.”

He kissed her gently. Goddess, how she had missed him. His kisses tasted sweeter than the berry sauce from their shared meal; his skin smelled sweeter than the greenhouse full of sunflowers.

“Will you come with me?”

“Of course,” she answered.

Their fingers intertwined as they descended the two flights of stairs. She followed him across the monastery grounds to the Goddess Tower, and they climbed back up many more flights.

“My love,” he took her other hand in his so that they were facing towards one another. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here to help you. Ruling over Fódlan on your own can’t have been easy.”

“Claude, I’ve been okay, I’ve–”

His lips found hers again.

“I wasn’t finished. I know I haven’t made things easy for you, and I’m sorry. It may not be Establishment Day right now, but I want to make you another promise. I promise I’ll never leave you alone like that again. I promise to stand by your side as we open Fódlan and Almyra to one another and rule them together. And I promise that I will love you forever.”

“Claude,” her pulse was pounding in her throat now, an unfamiliar feeling, “I will love you forever too.”

He deftly removed the ring from her finger and dropped to one knee.

“Will you marry me?”

Her eyebrows drew together, just slightly. “We’re already engaged.”

“Will you marry me in one week’s time?”

Now her eyebrows raised, just slightly. “Yes.” He returned the ring to its rightful place.

The sun was setting behind her twice-over fiance. Its amber rays picked out the strands of copper in his hair, the flecks of gold in his deep green eyes. He seemed to glow, inside and out. He pulled her into a tight embrace, and when he pulled away, he walked with her to the balcony at the edge of the tower.

There they sat, basking in the honeyed sunlight.

He glanced at her at his side. “This feels familiar, huh, Teach?”

Her face remained in its usual neutral expression. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you remember? The night the war ended, when we first got engaged, you and I sat right here, just like this, and watched the sun set on the old ways of the world. Now here we are, in our new dawn. I love you.”


	2. Laden with Happiness and Tears

Rumor, she thought to herself, had a way of spreading. That evening, one week ago, when Claude had proposed to her for the second time, it had seemed that the whole monastery already knew of their wedding plans, though Claude denied having told anyone beforehand. Rumor was like a wyvern, she mused, flying from the tower on its silent, scaly wings. The Church’s fastest messengers had already been sent to the farthest corners of the kingdom and beyond to inform the people of their impending union and to invite their many important guests. 

Within two days, the Margravines of Edmund had already arrived–the pink-haired one carrying a wedding gown in tow–and the queens of Brigid sent word that they had landed in Nuvelle and would reach the monastery soon. Soon after them came the Margrave and Margravine Gautier, Count Gloucester, and the former heiress to Ordelia county alongside her husband.

When she awoke to the sunrise the morning of the wedding, the Archbishop’s quarters were already empty. She had expected this, of course. The previous night, the aforementioned Count Gloucester had whisked her fiance away, insisting that it was bad luck for the bride to see the groom before the wedding. Therefore, she spent several minutes pondering rumors before there was a knock at her door.

“Come in.”

Hilda entered, intoning a cheerful “Good morning, professor,” as she laid a wedding dress across the foot of the bed.

“I haven’t been your professor in years.”

Hilda seemed to think this over as she fiddled with a bit of lace on the dress. “Even when you’re the all-important queen of Almyra, you’ll always be my professor. Up.” Hilda smoothed out the silk of the dress before draping a robe over her eternal professor and guiding her out of her chambers.

Fódlan’s finest artisans would easily have abandoned any other orders to serve in the wedding of the Queen of Fódlan and King of Almyra, but they had, nevertheless, insisted upon enlisting the aid of their wartime allies: that was, the former students of the Garreg Mach Officers’ Academy. As such, sweet aromas had poured from the monastery kitchens for most of the preceding week as the academy’s new sorcery professor prepared for the wedding. Margravine Gautier had now joined the red-haired teacher in the kitchen to assist in the final decorations of the wedding cake.

As Petra’s fingers worked deftly through her hair, she recalled Seteth’s adamant objection to the idea. A diplomatic nightmare, he had called it, to have another nation’s queen style her hair for her wedding. An act of political irreverence akin to Adrestia’s subjugation of Brigid. Such objection had only made Petra more determined to participate: a display of the friendship between their three nations, she insisted.

A sharp pull on a strand of her hair made her wince.

“My apologies,” Petra noticed her grimace in the mirror. In spite of her refined air, the queen of Brigid had not quite lost the rough touch that she had developed in wartime.

Though perhaps she could say the same of herself and Claude.

All the pomp and circumstance of the week between the proposal and the wedding had been more exhausting for her than any battle ever was. After they had only just reunited, she had been deprived of Claude once again. Not only had he been taken away from her the previous night, they had been separated constantly since their engagement. They would hardly have awoken before one of them would be taken aside to discuss some manner of apparently-crucial element of their ceremony.

And the remainder of the day passed in much the same manner. Her makeup, dress, flowers, and seemingly a thousand other things were fussed over in excruciating detail. She felt maddeningly passive in the whole affair. Her sword hand ached for action, and the rest of her ached for Claude. She would have preferred something far simpler had she not taken the title as queen. The proceedings would likely have been unbearable were it not for her deep trust in those carrying them out.

Remarkable, she thought.

It had been approximately a year since the war’s end, and much of the army had already married and taken up positions of prominence. She had known, upon taking the professorship at the academy, that her students would go on to rule Fódlan, but she had not anticipated that they would do so as one nation, nor that she would rule alongside them.

Manuela and Hanneman had been wed almost immediately after peace negotiations with the Empire had finished and taken up residence in Garreg Mach. Annette and Felix had followed suit. Ignatz and Flayn did not marry, but they stayed together in the church nonetheless to oversee its restoration. Hilda had briefly taken up a post in the Locket before leaving for Edmund territory at her brother’s behest. Dorothea had set course for Brigid soon after Petra.

Every day for months she had cursed herself for not doing the same thing when Claude had left.

But Dorothea did not bear the same kind of responsibilities that she did.

She was bound to Fódlan by the promise she had made to Claude so many years ago to see the dawn of a new world, and by the one he had made to come back to her. It had pained her, but her trust in Claude ran deeper than the distance from the Oghma mountains to the capital of Almyra.

And, she thought as she walked down the aisle, arm-in-arm with Captain Alois, her love for Claude was more fanciful than any elaborate wedding. Her enormous bouquet, the crystalline light filling the cathedral, the beautiful music thrumming in the air: none of it could rival the brilliance of her love for him. It was enough to send her into a daze when she joined him at the altar after being separated from him for so long.

Seteth’s voice faded to background noise, a protracted freefall before the impact of the moment she had been awaiting.

“I do.”

Claude’s lips were as soft and sweet on hers as they had been the first time they shared a kiss. The congregation–friends, allies, and strangers alike–erupted into thunderous sound, but all that could reach her was Claude.

The crowd filed into the reception hall. Here they had shared their first dance at the Establishment Day Ball, and here they shared their first dance as husband and wife. Wine flowed freely, and the festivities continued long into the night.

When the celebrations were at their height, Claude took her by the hand and led her away. They stole away to the stables, where his white wyvern waited for them. Music still ringing in their ears, they mounted the extraordinary beast. She wrapped her arms around his chest as they took flight.

“Do you see the red and blue stars over there?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“The red one,” he said, “is Antarah. In Almyra, they say he was a great warrior and poet. He fought to free his people from invasion, and he wrote two hundred and fifty-eight poems for Abla, the blue star, to express his love for her.”

The wind rustled through her carefully-braided hair. She removed the pins keeping it in place.

They bathed in starlight as they flew into the night, like rumors on the silent, scaly wings of his wyvern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the publication of the last chapter, I've found an amazing editor and beta-reader in my good friend @Axelflow. Check him out if you're a fan of the Dragon Prince!

**Author's Note:**

> I know technically Byleth and Claude's paired ending happens in Derdriu, but I wanted to change it to be at Garreg Mach instead


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